


Expectations

by TheDistantDusk



Series: Canon Hinny one-shots (all ratings, no order) [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas Fluff, F/M, fightfortherightsofhouseelves's Hinny Christmas Fest 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:35:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28182510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDistantDusk/pseuds/TheDistantDusk
Summary: Molly Weasley is a lot of things. But she's not an idiot.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley
Series: Canon Hinny one-shots (all ratings, no order) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2064753
Comments: 22
Kudos: 136





	Expectations

**Author's Note:**

> For the Hinny Christmas Fest, so kindly organized by fightfortherightsofhouseelves! Got this one in just under the wire! :D Thanks to Flo, Kmi, and James for looking it over for me!

Molly Weasley is a lot of things. But she’s not an idiot. 

Even if she hadn’t once been a teen in the throes of a serious relationship on the heels of a war (which, incidentally, she was), she did raise seven children. Seven _Gryffindor_ children. Seven Gryffindor children who, by default, have each thought themselves far more competent at sneaking around than they truly are. 

As such, she’s fairly certain of when Harry and Ginny became... intimate... this summer. Not that she wants the details. Her interest is limited to ensuring that her daughter — that _all_ of her children, Harry and Hermione most definitely included — are well-informed on the inherent risks of what they’re doing. The knowledge of their intimacy was just one of those things that even the most oblivious of parents would have found impossible to ignore. In the span of two days, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny went from “taking long walks in the garden” to feigning yawns and calling it an early night at 7 PM. Besides, Ron and Hermione had already been to Australia by themselves; only a moron would truly believe their nights were strictly filled with knitting caps for house elves. 

And as has been said before, Molly is a lot of things... but she’s not a bloody idiot. She knows some might expect her to maintain a puritanical stance on sex (as if she hadn’t birthed seven children of her own). She knows some might have disagreed with her stance on letting things unfold as they did. But as she’s learned over the past year, happiness — true happiness — is hard to find. 

After months of thinking she’d never see happiness on her children’s faces again, she first spotted it in Ginny’s eyes last May. Back then, it was a creeping, hesitant sort of look... the type that dipped its toes in the waters of joy for a split-second before retreating like a frightened doe. 

But as the weeks progress, she sees it more and more often — and not just in Ginny’s eyes. She sees happiness in the lazy quirk of Harry’s lips as Ginny takes his hand beneath the table. She sees it in the bobbing of Ron’s Adam’s Apple as Hermione descends the stairs in a sundress. She sees it in the way Hermione let a sandal dangle from her toe as she tilts her chin towards the sun.

By now, the four of them have coupled up properly, just as she suspected they would. It was in equal parts charming and bittersweet, but Molly knows better than anyone that there’s nothing quite like a war to rearrange one’s priorities. 

And when she considers all of that, plus the fact that certain fractals of darkness will never truly leave them (just as they’ll never truly leave her)... who would she have been, really, to snatch such joy away?

So, yes, Molly spends the summer fully aware they’re intimate beneath her roof. But after the plague of chaos and confusion and uncertainty and fear that followed their family for close to a year, she honestly prefers them beneath her roof than in a tent somewhere, filled with cat piss and loneliness. 

However — and Molly admits this part makes her a bit cheeky — she _does_ enjoy the unnecessary pageantry they go to over the summer to conceal what they’re doing. The four of them actually think they’re good at hiding it, even as Harry rakes his eyes over Ginny’s... erm... _back_. Even as she Hermione parades around the kitchen in Ron’s old jumper. Even as she hears, each night, as Ginny’s feet land in the attic as Ron’s land in Ginny’s room. Alas, the whole thing is too hilarious and contrived for her to spoil, so she simply doesn’t. 

But then the girls return to school after a summer that’s both agonizingly long and tenderly fleeting. Harry and Ron find a flat together and enter training. What remains of their lives returns to normal, even though Molly feels she’ll always be picking up the piece of a puzzle that can’t be solved. 

She keeps herself busy as fall turns to winter, though. She volunteers with Ministry relief efforts. She writes to Ginny often. She makes an effort to try harder with Fleur, to rebuild her relationship with Percy, to assist George if she can, to stay close with her husband. She knows her life will forever be separated into two parts: before and after. She knows that the remainder of her days will contain a deep-seated longing that tinges her world with shades of gray. This is a unique type of pain, she knows… the sort of pain only a mother can feel. The sort of pain that takes her breath away if she lets it. 

But she also knows the best way to keep moving is to maintain the traditions that made them a family in the first place. 

So she sticks to holiday routines as Christmas approaches. Waking early. Cleaning the house. Decorating with tinsel and paper chains. Preparing for everyone’s arrival. Christmas will never be the same… not without him. But if only for George’s sake, Molly knows she needs to try. 

She suggests that Harry spend the night on Christmas Eve, just so he isn’t alone; she assumes (correctly) that they haven’t _quite_ got the nerve to ask if Ginny can spend the night at the flat instead. By now, Harry is essentially an overnight Christmas fixture anyway; even when they do get up the nerve to ask, Molly expects he’ll continue to stay over. Or so she hopes so, anyway. The alternative still makes her feel a bit broken, but she’ll cross that bridge when it comes. 

So when Harry, Ron, and Ginny head upstairs after a night of festivities on Christmas Eve, Molly assumes they’ll be back to their old tricks. Hermione’s spending the night with her parents, but it wouldn’t be the least bit surprising if she apparates in. After all, they think they’ve got a foolproof plan that’ll last through everyone’s departure from school. Announcing she’s been aware of this plan the whole time would only spoil things… and Molly doesn’t want to be the bearer of bad news. Not this year. 

After a half-sleepless night, Molly rises early on Christmas Day. She continues to stick to routines, to never deviate from what she can control; today is a day that _could_ be especially miserable, if she lets it. So when she emerges from the toilet at half past seven, she doesn’t expect to see anyone in the cold, dark corridor. From the amount everyone drank last night, she assumed their switching-bedrooms routine would be pushed back, just a bit. 

Then again, it’s not _just anyone_ she sees in the corridor, his foot poised on the step leading to the attic. 

It’s Harry. 

Sleep-tousled, disheveled Harry — and as much as it makes her cringe to admit, he does look… more relaxed. 

At least until they make eye contact. 

For the life of her, Molly’s never seen anyone transform so quickly from chuffed to terrified. Any hint of relaxation slides from his face, his back going rigid. Harry freezes, stock-still, his white-socked foot still poised on the step, his eyes filled with the sort of blinding terror she hasn’t seen in seven months. If it weren’t for that, really, she’d find the whole thing humorous. But seeing as how she’d rather not see that look on his face again, she opts to take pity on him. 

After a bit of gentle prodding, that is. 

“Harry, dear,” Molly says softly; she’s certain Ginny’s still asleep, but it’s best not to chance it. “Wherever are you going so early in the morning?”

Harry swallows and awkwardly moves his jaw like he’s forgotten how to speak. “I’m, erm,” he starts, his voice torn between graveled with sleep and high-pitched with terror. “I’m… going to the toilet?”

Molly can’t help the smirk that crawls to her lips as she nods to her left. “You’ve just missed it, dear.”

 _Shit_. 

Harry doesn’t say the word, but it’s written across his face, plain as day. He shifts his weight, his face blanching even more; she can almost see the wheels spin in his head as he thinks of another excuse. 

“I’ve… erm. Sleepwalked?” 

Molly’s smirk broadens to a full-on grin as she crosses her arms over her chest. Is that how he’s going to play it? In that case, she’ll keep up the ruse, too. 

“Oh? What an unfortunate affliction!” she exclaims, hoping she’s masking her amusement with feigned concern. “You’ll need to see a healer, Harry. How have you managed to make it down such steep steps in the first place? It’s remarkable you’ve stayed safe so far! In future, I really think—“

But when Harry cuts her off, it’s not with another excuse; it’s with a remark that’s hasty and blurted, but ringing with truth. He just blinks, sets his jaw, and gives her with an expression so endearing, so honest, that it makes her entire Christmas. 

“—I’m going to marry her, Mrs. Weasley,” he interrupts, removing his foot from the step as he turns to face her… and right in front of her face, the hollow fear in his eyes fades into sharp nobility. 

He draws a deep breath, running his hand through his hair, even as Molly’s head spins, even as her heart leaps to her throat, even as his words breathe more life into her soul than she’s felt in months. 

“So I’m sorry if this”— he gestures to Ginny’s room— “is weird. Really, I am. But please, believe me when I say I’ll do the right—”

But Molly has no idea if he says another word. Because she can’t stand another bloody second of Harry having to justify himself… not when she’s thrilled that he’s in her life. That he’s in Ginny’s life. That he’s _saved_ their lives. 

Not when he’s just confirmed what she’s always hoped and dreamed for: that he would truly, properly join their family. 

She’s not even aware of her feet running towards him, of the delighted squeal from her mouth as tears of joy stream down her face. All she feels is Harry relaxing against her shoulder, his arm awkwardly patting her on the back, even as she continues to jump and shriek.

“Not erm… anytime too soon?” he manages, through her hysterics. “I just didn’t want you to think—”

Oh, _please_! 

Molly pulls away from the hug with a sharp glare. “Harry,” she says firmly. “Of all the things I’ve thought about you, doing the wrong thing never even crossed my mind. So I’ll hear none of that. I just…” She trails off, wiping her eyes. “I didn’t know you’d be so serious so fast! But of course I’m happy, dear. _So_ happy!”

Harry gives her a fervent nod and a smile… and unless she’s very much mistaken, she can see the hint of a tear in his eye too as she pulls him in for another hug.

Marry her. 

He’s going to _marry_ her! Harry Potter is going to marry her daughter! He’s going to stand at the altar, his green eyes brimming, the cause of his scar a distant memory. Molly can envision Ginny in white, her red hair gorgeous in contrast, her face split into a smile she can’t contain. Or maybe none of that will happen. Right now, Molly doesn’t really care. All she knows is that they’re to be married... and the thought alone is absolutely beautiful, isn’t it? That something so lovely could come from a year so dreadful?

In truth, Molly did expect this — eventually. After all, she spent months observing how Harry looks at Ginny. She’s seen the softness in his eyes and the protectiveness in his jaw. It’s clear he loves her; Molly just never expected she’d be given permission to properly call him her son in the same year she lost one. 

And as she cries and hugs him, Molly is happy for two things: that her family will soon be even bigger and happier than she’d ever hoped... and that her daughter (approximately ten meters away) has always been a very heavy sleeper.


End file.
